


Por Una Cabeza

by muguu_writes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 1900s supernatural detective AU, Healing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Superpowers, Unreliable Narrator, more ships will be added as we go along, rating will change as we go along, themes of sexuality, usage of time period accurate slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9639161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muguu_writes/pseuds/muguu_writes
Summary: Most beloved, accomplished men were legends. But Victor Nikiforov is for the most part, myth, lore, a mystery- no one's ever seen him before, but for most of his life, Katsuki Yuuri has had a gripping fascination with this name that appeared everywhere, from irrigation deals to studies about lost empires.He himself is a penny dreadful writer for a rag magazine, who tries his best to live a boring life in the rainy city of London.However, his heart and the universe have other plans. and he is soon dragged into a delicious tango with a stranger and his strange world that would out-weird even the campiest of trashy paperback novels.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking and reading! I am (not) sorry for this AU HAHAHA

_Dearest Eros,_

_I am writing to send compliments on the latest and final chapter of your work, Hector Dragomiroff and the Mystery of the Immortal’s Pearl. Correct me if I presume wrong, but I hear you have only recently taken over the Adventures of Hector Dragomiroff? In my time in London, this publication has been a source of great entertainment for me, but I find your run with it the most riveting yet- you have a shandard of work I’d usually find in highly reputable literary circles._

_However, I do have one nagging grope that I must setlle with you. According to the evidence of the previous chapters, the character who must have killed the father is the old Princess Dubrovnik herself, correct I thought it go fitting that the lover you had chosen for Hector was the culprit all along. After all, legend has it that Nikiforov himself, Hector’s mose, was known to catch his suspects during sits of erotic passion._

_And thus, I do not know what it is that possessed you to accuse a characder that was only introduced halfway into the arc. It’s practically common sense that the murderer is introduced within the first half of the story. Logically, it made sense, but Princess Dubrovnik was a far more compelling murderer than the poor, poor bellboy.  It rather dampened my experience of the story and I shall hope that you will not do it again._

_Yours sencerely,_

_Anonynous_

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri Katsuki was the last and only person in the office, and the letter was the last and only letter of the pile.

 

It was probably one of the newer ones since Janice from accounting had dumped his bag of letters bottoms up on his desk earlier. That was the last of them for the day, and now he was free to go home.

 

“Nagging grope,” he repeated to himself. His eyes followed the flamboyant loops and excessive curls of the handwriting to see if he’d read right. He was, and it seemed rather ironic of a mistake for a letter complaining about his writing to make.

 

It was true, of course, but the ending of that story was, unlike most things, not his fault. It made him bitter, sad and paralyzed for a while- but this was what he had chosen, a good life, a good stable life that required him to write terrible fiction for an alright wage. When he was younger, perhaps, he would’ve fought his way through it, blaming himself whenever he didn’t manage to convince an editor the story was important enough to keep.

 

Usually, he worked on the soul-sucking task of being Aunt Agony to the magazine readers. There was a catalogue of advice and responses he could use, and he relied on its generic advice heavily, but sometimes there were letters that pulled at something in him. Mostly, the ones from maids too scared to write home without any money, scholars too far away from where they grew up and people who wrote in about Victor Nikiforov.

 

Most beloved, accomplished men were legends. But Victor Nikiforov was for the most part, myth, lore, a mystery.

 

The famous Russian detective began to solve crimes more than a century ago, got into philanthropy of all sorts for many a year in between. And then, he began to, unmistakably, turn up in trade partnerships, areas of study, exhibitions that trailed off into the wilderness. Then, he was back at it again, taking apart the strangest of cases- sometimes with elements of something beyond human possibility. Then, like an opera about to approach its final act, he’d quieten down and disappear again- papers from rural towns would stop coming in about him, you wouldn’t be able to find his deals anywhere. Then, slowly but surely, he’d come back, like a snake who just needed a few years to shed skin. There were no photos, no videos, nothing- and no accounts on who he looked like either.

These only ever existed in written accounts- small town papers, an old contract, a party list. There were never any photos or recordings, no signs that he wanted to be seen at all.

Yuuri first came across his name back in Keio when his sister had first snuck him in. The case was from a small watering hole near Melbourne, where he saved a group of young girls from being kidnapped and sold to a brothel in a richer city. They’d been stowed away in the cargo containing sector of the ship, and some of the younger girls were near death by the time a whole search party assisted in locating them. It imprinted itself into his young mind, and every time from then when he saw a ship, he stared at it’s belly suspiciously.

He told his friends, Yuuko and Nishigori, who then resolved that they would never set foot on a ship.  Despite that promise, he eventually moved to Tokyo to join his sister, where he studied everything he could in the university’s sparse archives. Nikiforov- the name was like a golden trail leading him to learn about things mundane and strange, from who influenced international trade tariffs to the study of lost Persian treasures.

Swept up in the fervour of how much time steamships cut from transcontinental journeys, he would once again find himself breaking his childhood promises as he crossed the Pacific with his sister Mari in a desperate attempt to find new horizons in San Francisco.

Eventually, as the rent got harder to pay, the sight of bodies bloodied by gang fights broke his nerve. His sister never told him why, but he could guess. She put her lab coat aside and set up a place for tired travellers like them to eat.

The stars did not align for them, for him, or any of his young and childish dreams.

The decision to uproot himself once again and find a new place half a world away required a bravery he was never sure he earned.

After years of yearning to report on truth and to have a chance at the wild and colourful life that Victor Nikiforov lived, he settled for good. Boring, but good. He told himself that the Hector Dragomiroff series was more than enough. In London, he was finally safe with a boringness that matched the child inside who stared suspiciously at the belly of ships and told his friends not to step too far out onto icy ponds.

But right then, as he realized how jarringly empty the office was, he did not feel safe. He wasn’t quite sure whether he was scared of excited, but the hair on his nape began to stand, and it wasn’t even that cold outside that day. Perhaps it was just the way the building was constructed, but it made him feel eyes burning into his back, even if they were nowhere to be found.

 Listening to his heart, Yuuri  jammed the letter into his briefcase and bolted out of the building.

 

* * *

 

 

After a bit of a tram ride from the city center, he made his way back home through the crowded, damp mess of Chinatown after he calmed himself enough to buy a large pot pie. It wasn’t the broth soaked, deep fried comfort _katsudon_ of home, but it had that warm, savoury taste- and most importantly, gravy that was actually salty. It would calm his nerves, the ones that always seemed to go into overdrive if he was left to think too much on his own for too long.

He walked fast- fish, fish and more fish. The pungent scent was almost comforting- he was born by the seaside after all. But the open, smelly sweetness of ocean catch was different from the stench of the eels and haddock that’d been waiting around the market since 4 am that morning.

Finally, pushing past enthusiastic merchants and giggling children, he made it back to the tiny, cramped shophouse he and his roommate made home.

Their apartment was sparse- they’d only moved in months ago, after all, and the fireplace was a bit small. But there were charming cabinets that were falling apart at the bolts, study areas and two cramped beds with an access of blankets. They were even fortunate enough to get a water closet, a bath and stoves.

Phichit was back early that day, already comfortable home with his legs tucked under him in on a moth eaten cosy.  As usual, his maroon jackets were already pressed for the next day and his soft hair was washed and combed down.

“ _Hello_ , Mr Katsuki. I see you’ve already finished reading ‘The Art of Aspic’,” he smirks, “Would you like anything new and strange?”

His best friend and roommate already had a stack of books ready for him by his side.

“You are the absolute dearest,” Yuuri smiles. The heating was crap but Phichit was sunny enough to keep them both warm. “And in return, I bring you pie.”

His friend peeked warily at his brown box.

“Is it eel pie?”

“Yep. Eels. Jellied in aspic with a side of pickles.”

Phichit pouted at him from across the room, taking _‘The Legacy of Qin Shi Huang’_ to cover his face while he sulked.

“You’re holding the book upside down.”

The young Siamese man swiftly turned it back up and continued eyeing the box suspiciously.

“I’m kidding Phichit! It’s pot pie.”

Phichit heaved a sigh of relief, and Yuuri placed the food on the table before grabbing some dishes from the corner of their tiny stove. He set the table as Phichit gathered all the new reading material he nicked for Yuuri from the library. For all Phichit had done for him, Yuuri would never buy them jellied eels again, no matter how desperate they were. After all, that boy would’ve had an even harder time adjusting to the odd food here- the tart, spicy flavours of his home were nowhere to be found in the rainy, grey city.

“We should try eating the noodles downstairs,” Phichit suggests, before slicing the pie and watching the gravy ooze out, “It looks alright.”

“Do you want food poisoning?”

“Well, I won't _die_.”

 _Oh but I might_ , Yuuri thinks grimly, mind flashing back to when he saw a fly meet it’s maker in the salty broth of the old vendors pot. They continued back and forth like this, and soon, they’d polished the box clean of their food, washed and began to get ready for a calm night in.

With the world put aside, Yuuri’s stomach lurched with anticipation as he looked at the thick stack of books. He took them and laid them on his lap with a satisfying ‘thump!’

Phichit looked up from writing his own letters, watching Yuuri’s face shift as he sifted through the reading selection for the week.

“...Anything about Nikiforov?”

“Ah, you’ve… exhausted our whole archive.”

“Oh, I see. Have I?”

Well, he had the decency to blush.

“The man of your dreams has not appeared any official sources recently.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and immediately took to the guide to embalming in Ancient Egypt- at least, whatever they knew of it for now.

The sun began to fade, and Phichit turned on a single, flickering lamp between them.

Yuuri’s eyes ached as they darted furtively across the pages. He thumbed through markings of previous readers- there were notes in Cyrillic, German, kanji even. The little scratches made stories of their own, and as he passed his fingers over them, his breath hitched as his mind conjured up images of who they could be, could’ve been. Maybe he could find the writer of the strange letter in the pages, vandalized with study.

The back of his head began to ache, and soon he realized he’d been staring at the markings on the pages without reading the words.

He got up to stretch, and his neck cracked when he craned over to see what Phichit was up to. Not sleeping, apparently. He softly ran a pencil across the pages, making sweeping lines.

“Hey.”

“Bored of mummies already?”

“Couldn’t concentrate.” 

Phichit stopped doodling.

“That’s odd.”

“Is it?”

“Something happened today?” 

Yuuri set the book down and got off the bed to retrieve his briefcase. He came back with a single, quivering piece of paper in his hand.

“I got a strange letter. It was telling me how bad my ending was, but… The spelling was quite terrible.”

As Phichit read the letter, the flickering light cast an ugly, anguished shadow on his delicate features. Yuuri eyed his reaction.

“What’s the matter, Phi?”

The shadow left in a flash.  

“I- Oh, I was just wondering what on earth a ‘nagging grope’ was,” Phichit laughed, “Maybe ‘gripe’? Or ‘group’?”

 Phichit folded the letter and placed it on the small desk between them. There was just something about the letter that made the circuits in Yuuri’s mind, spark, connect, fizzle, but god, he didn’t know how to put it.

“Yuuri?”

“Hmm?”

“You know, this lack of photographs, of anything other than the accounts of citizens and small town papers… It makes me wonder if Nikiforov really exists.” 

Yuuri turned to his side to turn off their lamp.

“Well if he doesn’t, he should,” he muttered, “I’ve spent too much time on him.”

 

Phichit chuckled, and soon, Yuuri began to drift away from his body and into the silence of the dark, dark room.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of the first, larger chapter but it felt too long to be in one chapter. I enjoyed writing this and here you get to have a better idea of the strange circumstances we're working with~ (read all the way to the end for some saucy Phichit details HAHAHA)

As he’d suspected, the spelling errors made up a word.

_ Holgo’s Den. _

The words ripped through his slumber to wake him up far before his clock did, like they’d been screaming at him for being oblivious. He tried to push the letter and the words back to his mind- whatever the writer was playing at, it was probably too much trouble, especially after everything that had happened back in San Francisco.

But the words kept bubbling to the forefront of his thoughts like a cork in water, through copywriting about the benefits of smoking cigars (honestly, not many), the need to give your child soda (so you could attract more ants) and why you should stay in a house on this or that street. He passed up the advertisement requested that men to spank women if they didn’t brew them a certain brand of coffee, knowing his sister would swim across the Atlantic to bite his ear off if he dared to encourage it. They kept bouncing back to him as he moved through numerous letters from wealthy women complaining about not having more than one maid. And then at lunch. And even while he looked over new material for his second run at Hector Dragomiroff.

And thus, Yuuri found himself in a dessert shop near where he worked- a newly opened, pastel coloured and almost inappropriately adorable. It was hardly a den, and no Holgos to be seen anywhere. It had a small, lace covered table, white framed windows and chocolate cakes so lacquered he could almost see himself in them.  

He felt eyes on the back of his neck again, and jumped when the glass door rang open and a small group of young, loud and rich men stepped into the shop- you know the type, the ones that walked around with a cloud of cologne and the smell of cash. They immediately found him more fascinating than the cakes on display and Yuuri resolved to become as transparent as the glass.

_ “Do you think he speaks English?” “Chinese? Perhaps he’s from one of those rich families?” “God, you mean those opium dealers? Unfortunate.” _

Yuuri thrummed his fingers on a marble counter, using all his self control to tell them that  _ they  _ were ‘unfortunate’. It would’ve probably come out in a strained stutter anyway.

The waiter from behind the counter seemed to think he was quite a sight too, and emanated something cold and untouchable.

He was a blonde boy, no older than sixteen, and the fact that his features were so delicate and doll like made his snarl all the more frightening.

Trapped between a bunch of gobs and a pretty face, Yuuri wanted a sinkhole to collapse beneath him and suck him to the belly of hell. His breathing only quickened when one of the men from behind him stepped forward and reached to clasp a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, what’s good eh, Chink- Ow!”

What happened next was a surreal blur.

The greasy, sneering man’s hand was abruptly whacked away by something akin to an invisible force, which seemed to press itself up between him and Yuuri. Yuuri ducked as the greasy man stumbled back to equally frightened friends. The blonde youth at the counter glowered louder as the man yelled in pain and Yuuri tripped forward onto the counter, smashing his chin painfully onto the sharp marble edge.

“Jesus christ, will all of you get the hell out?!” The cashier yelled.

The company behind looked positively affronted, and the leader of their pack- the one who  tried to touch Yuuri from before stepped forward and turned his nose up at the cashier.

“You are sending away very. Good. Business.”

“Very. Good.” He snapped back.

The company turned to leave the shop, and Yuuri began to shake off the impact and inch away as well. Something sharp stabbed at the numb pain in his jaw, and he wiped the spot where he’d landed. When it finally registered he was bleeding, he looked up and noticed the blonde teenager glaring at him again.

Before he could turn and run, the young man pointed out an accusing finger at him.

“You. I didn’t mean you,  _ stupid  _ . Come here.”

As soon as Yuuri reached him, he was grabbed by the cheeks, cut chin examined by the boy’s icy eyes.

“Tch. Stupid man. Who asked you to trip?”

He crossly left the counter and Yuuri winced as he prodded the cut again.

Yuuri breathed. He needed to get out. The day had been strange enough on it’s own already, and he felt his pleasantries drain with every second. Gathering himself and holding his dirty old handkerchief to his chin, he pushed the door as quietly as he could so the bell wouldn’t ring.

But then, the cashier returned with some antiseptic, bandages and an even larger, almost cartoonish scowl.

“Oi! I didn’t ask you to leave!”

“You didn’t seem to like me here…?” Yuuri questioned.

“No shit! Just… Come here and let me bandage you,” the blonde growls, “he’s so pissed.”

“He?”

No answer.

Yuuri went over obediently, and let himself be clumsily prodded at with swabs of antiseptic and a poorly cut bandage. Which was more than enough for the moment. Once the cashier looked satisfied with his work, he put aside the tray and reached underneath.

For a bouquet.

Of flowers.

“It’s for you. You’re Yuuri Katsuki right?”

Yuuri’s brain fizzed to a stop.

“You’re giving me flowers? That's, uh. You could give me cake instead.”

“No, not me, some sappy idiot from yesterday left these here. They’re dying!”

“But why? Who?”

No answer. He pressed his fingers to his temple, a thousand questions shooting off in his throbbing head. Who was this kid anyway? Was he dreaming again? The implications of bouquet were many. In a further fetched universe, it could’ve been some sort of threat, but Yuuri Katsuki was as naturally inoffensive as a rabbit, so it must’ve meant...

“The fuck you talking to yourself for?” the kid snarled, “You can call me Plisetsky.”

Plisetsky pushed the bouquet into his hands, soft and wilting to the touch, and Yuuri could do nothing but accept them without complaint. Instinctively, he cradled them and began to creep out of the store- his heart was pounding and he couldn’t keep himself in this place anymore, with all it’s delicate flowers and posh eyes. He caught his reflection in the glass case- his chin red and trembling, eyes so wide they could pop out.

“Oi, where are you going? At least buy something you asshole.”

Yuuri bit his lip and winced again at the thought of the price. 

* * *

 

Yuuri was asleep by the time Phichit got home, exhausted by the events of the day. Not wanting to wake him, he took an unfavourably cold shower and decided to steal one of Yuuri’s nightshirts to wear on top of the flimsy ones he’d insisted on keeping- so much for aesthetic. He hadn’t managed to get anyone to look at him in it anyway, which was a pity.  

That was when he noticed the flowers- nearer to Yuuri’s side of the bed, a few white blooms stood sadly in a chipped vase. There were two camellias and two lilies, an odd combination of flowers- and most of their springtime life had left them. Their tips browned and the bigger petals were eager to leave.

Phichit, as quietly as he could, took the vase to his side of the bed.

He pressed his lips softly to each flower, before covering them with a tense, shaking hand. Shyly, the petals of the flowers began tremble back to life, and their leaves unfurled like delicate dancers. Phichit coaxed them with a gentle smile and soothing hushes, and the water in the vase drained rapidly as the petals and leaves plumped up once again.

“You’ve done a fantastic job,” he reassures them, as they calmed down from their shaking and contemplated their reanimation.

Yuuri stirred, and he shifted in his bed to face where Phichit stood.

“And you’ve gotten yourself an admirer,” he sighed, “I’m jealous.”

Then, with as little noise as he could manage, he moved towards his roommate.

 

* * *

“I could’ve sworn there was a cut on my chin here yesterday.”

Yuuri’s glasses pushed his hair out of his eyes and onto his forehead as he examined his face in the bathroom mirror, bewildered.

“Well, it’s not coming back. T’was a flesh wound!”

“Now I can’t wiggle out of of whatever photography hustle you have for me,” Yuuri groaned, “My feet are alright but my hands are shaky. You know that.”

He’d read some manuals about the new cameras before, so he knew how to work them in theory, but Phichit was far better at handling the Brownie.

“Nooo, it’s not that. I wanted us to be the models!”

Phichit beamed with all the sunshine from their side of the Thames, and took out a fat stack of prints from his own briefcase, holding them forward as he was presenting a child their first book. But having lived with the minx for years, Yuuri knew better than to expect anything innocent from his cherub-faced roommate.

“I thought you stopped doing these already.”

Phichit rolled his eyes and waved him off.

“Well, I found photographers who were actually pleasant to work with.”

Yuuri sifted through the pieces, eyes darting behind him. Thank god they were in private. It wasn’t as if a priest would sense them and run in to condemn them to hell.

“Beautiful, right? We sell these to private collectors.”

“ _ Private collectors.  _ ”

He cringed at the thought, but his friend took his hand and patted it.

“Think of it as a noble service,” he told him, nodding, “we’re helping repressed old men have a good wank.”

A tense silence passed between them for a few very serious seconds as they stared very seriously into each other’s eyes.

Then, Yuuri’s eyes widened and he let out the ugliest, loudest snort, sending his friend into a fit of cackling. He took a small soaking paintbrush from the breakfast table and flicked it at the younger man, smiling at himself for his petty, childish act. His lashings of sass  usually stayed under the wraps of his self-consciousness,and it was biss tdo

“I don’t think any old men want to see me.”

Phichit raised an eyebrow at him. “You know that’s a darn lie- and you’d be  _ ravishing  _ if you just wore something that fit you for once. And pushed back your hair.”

Yuuri chuckled derisively. “You know, I really don’t care.”

“You don’t believe me. I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t. Besides, then you’d have competition.”

Phichit only smiled wider, set to embarrass Yuuri.

“Well then,” he sang, “don’t blame me if Victor Nikiforov sees me first… falls in love with me… and decides to lure me away to a life of adventure.”

Yuuri spluttered.

“H-He’d be ancient by now! Besides that, he’s a respectable renaissance man who wouldn’t,” he waved his hands vaguely, “dabble in a bunch of young men looking for pocket money.”  

“Even from reading about his recent conquests, he still seems like a very  _ active  _ silver fox- And I remember you being the one to say that.”

The Japanese man searched for a comeback, but to no avail. He looked at the pictures again, back at himself, then back at them again. If he stayed as stiff and undesirable as ever, and could earn them some money whilst imagining he was doing this for some secret Nikiforov type adventure, it would probably get him enough cash to buy a jacket for himself or at least, one of the hyper-lacquered cakes in Holgo’s. The Plisetsky boy didn’t seem too pleased that he could, after all the trouble he’d caused, only afford the smallest eclair.  

“Alright, I’ll try it out tomorrow. But on a few conditions.”

“Mm?”

“One, don’t send the photos to my family. Two, I won’t be forced to take off my shirt.”

Phichit clapped, excited, but then realized he had to leave immediately or he’d be late to work.

Yuuri still had some time, though, and as soon as Phichit left, he took out the letter again.

Clearly the flowers represented some sort of… romantic interest. It could’ve be any one of the women at work, but he barely interacted with them- sometimes, he suspected, to the point where he seemed aloof. Maybe it was someone he’d met in passing at the bar, but he, unlike his roommate, had never been propositioned directly. Perhaps it was because he ran back to their enclave whenever his friend got too flirtatious and loud. The walk of shame was a familiar one for that young man, but Yuuri hadn’t the energy. There was one girl who tried to court him back in San Francisco, but he never got over the guilt of rejecting her to speak to her again.

Besides, there was no way the flowers would’ve survived the trip and still look this alive. He was surprised to find them so well after the way they had wilted the day before.

‘I suppose it would be unseemly of me to not at least give a handwritten response,’ he thought. He poured himself a glass of milk and sliced some bread, eating as he wrote it.

He then left for work, left the letter at Holgo’s Den- (at least someone else had taken over from the rude child), continued home, had dinner and then a bath. He checked his chin to see if the scar returned. It did not seem to be coming back, but it was better for the photograph that way, so he tried not to overthink it. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he remembered. 

Sitting in the shallow water, he ran some suds gently over his torso in an attempt to envision himself as something, someone that might tempt another. He would have been able to, had he not been so distracted by an angry, swollen scar that ran from his chest to his abdomen, like a worm under his skin. He gave up, and turned the tap off.

* * *

 

The images: 

The Siamese man was sprawled on some shiny covers, silk probably, with nothing but another silk ribbon to hide the family jewels. His lids were darkened with kohl, showing how his eyes sparkled with mirth.The next picture had him mouthing the tip of an umbrella in a less than innocent position, with an ever-exuberant grin on his face, fully enjoying the eyes of the camera.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For full disclosure, I probably won't be able to work much on this for the next few weeks cause I'm trying to settle a lot of things with school;; Please leave comments or hit me up on tumblr @mugumuguu! I would love to talk to you guys and stuff like that /) m (\

**Author's Note:**

> AND THATS IT FOR NOW, I GUESS. 
> 
> This actually has a whole other part to it, but I uploaded it and tried to read it again and 5000+ words felt way too long to be one chapter, so I'm going to be updating it day by day these few days. There are superpowers involved and stuff, and Victor's gonna turn up soon.
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading and please leave a comment, kudo or subscribe if you want to see more!! Hit me up on tumblr @mugumuguu.


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